by Kaitlin Ward
“All right. I’m gonna do it.” I pull out my phone and stare apprehensively at its screen. “Maybe I should text her instead?”
“No,” they say firmly, in unison.
“Fine,” I grumble, and make the call before I can talk myself out of it.
They’re both watching me intently, like I’m a reality TV show, and I wish I’d waited till I was alone to do this. Especially when it rings four times with no answer. Cara never lets my calls ring this many times. On the fifth ring, she answers.
“Didn’t I say I’d call you?” is what she says. Tersely.
“You did, but … you haven’t.” My voice is weak. I feel pathetic. “I know you’re mad at me, Cara, but if we don’t talk about it, nothing’s going to get fixed.”
“Maybe it shouldn’t get fixed. Maybe we’re growing apart.”
Sam’s eyes widen and now I really wish we were having this conversation alone, or at least out of hearing range.
“Since when?” I demand. “We were fine until I said one thing about Avalon and—”
“Look, I just need some space, Mailee. I need to figure out what’s important to me and what I want without being so wrapped up in … what someone else wants.”
“But we already have the plan, in the Book of Life Goals.”
“Maybe I don’t want that plan, though!” she bursts out. “Maybe I don’t have the exact same dreams I had in seventh grade, and maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m supposed to.”
“Why haven’t you ever said anything like that before, then?” I huddle into myself and try not to look at Samantha or Margaret, who are definitely regretting this suggestion.
“Because you’re so obsessed with that stupid book, Mailee. And I’m not—” Her voice breaks a little. “I’m not, like, trying to stop being your friend. I just need to extricate myself a little, you know? I feel like our personalities have gotten totally entangled in each other and I need to pull back for a while.”
“Okay.” I’m struggling to hold back tears. It’s like she stabbed me a million times with a knife. “If that’s what you want.”
“I will call, okay? Just … give me a little time.”
I hang up and press my face into my knees. Within moments, there are two pairs of arms around me, but I feel cold.
“I’m so sorry,” Samantha says. “I don’t think either of us would have suggested you call her if we ever thought she’d say anything like that.”
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask pathetically, peering up over my knees. My eyes are burning, but tears don’t fall. “Am I, like, the world’s most overbearing friend?”
“You’re a great friend,” Sam reassures me. “We all know Cara’s going through some stuff. Maybe you’re … an easy outlet to blame.”
I want this to comfort me, but it doesn’t. “I’m really sorry, you guys, but I think I just want to go home.”
They’re understanding, of course, because it’s hard not to be understanding when someone has just gotten dumped by their best friend, and pretty soon I find myself alone in my bedroom, sitting on the floor in the middle of a pile of clothes.
It’s that stupid commune that’s pulling Cara away from me, I know it is. But I also have to wonder if I’m entirely blameless. I am a good friend, or at least I try to be. But do I take more than I give? Am I too much work?
These are insecurities I’ve had forever. Acquaintances come and go, but Cara, I thought she’d be there forever. She wanted to create the Book of Life Goals. She had so much fun decorating it and writing bullet points and schedules in her perfect, bubbly handwriting. We updated it at the end of the school year, and she was still into it then. Now I wonder if she felt forced into it, if she was faking. If she’s such a good friend and human being that she stuck by me when I annoyed the crap out of her, and now I’ve finally taken her too far over the edge.
That can’t be true, though. I’m not perfect, but am I so awful? I don’t think so. I hope not. I’ll give Cara space for a little while, like she asked, and then when she’s ready, I’ll try harder.
I look around my room. It’ll never be as clean as Cara’s, not without her help. But it is not endearing to be this sloppy. I can do so much better. If Cara’s going to figure out some things about herself, I should do the same thing.
So I scoop up all the clean clothes off my floor, and I start to fold.
When things end, there’s supposed to be a reason. A catalyst. Something you can look back on later when you need an explanation. Even if it doesn’t make you feel any better.
But right now, in the fall of my senior year, I am losing my best friend for no reason at all. It’s like the two of us are held together by an old, fraying rubber band. One wrong move and it could break from anywhere.
Senior year is supposed to be the pinnacle of my existence so far. A glorious culmination of high school. And it’s supposed to be happening with Cara by my side. Every morning, I wait in our spot, not knowing if she’ll show. Or if she’ll even hang out with me if she does. Her greetings are usually brief and impersonal. Sometimes she stays, especially if other friends are around, but more often she goes on ahead into school without me.
Ever since she told me that she needed space, things haven’t been the same. We went from best friends to close acquaintances. I guess the amount of space she needed could fill a galaxy. But I haven’t given up, and since we’ve been back at school, I wait for her steadfastly every morning until my phone says 8:25; exactly five minutes until I have to be in homeroom.
Our spot is beneath one of the sycamore trees that decorate the yard of our high school. There’s nothing special about this particular tree, we just claimed it one day sophomore year. Meeting here became part of our routine.
Today, a balled-up sweatshirt protects my butt from the dew-slicked ground as I sit with my back against the tree, alone, scrolling mindlessly through social media stuff on my phone. The tree’s not far from the school’s entrance, and every day that Cara doesn’t show, I swear I can feel the pitying looks from both friends and people I don’t know as I start my solo walk of shame into the building. I’m imagining the pitying looks, Samantha says. Maybe she’s right, I don’t know.
A backpack thunks down beside me, but it doesn’t belong to Cara. It belongs to Gavin. He sits on the backpack, probably smooshing his homework into a wrinkled mess. It took years for Cara to get me to put my homework neatly in a folder like she does, and never hand in wrinkled, smudged, halfhearted work. Seeing him sit on his backpack like that would drive her nuts. But she’s not here, so I guess it doesn’t matter. She would be proud of me, though. My room won’t be featured in a home décor magazine anytime soon, but I’ve managed to keep it clean all by myself for months now.
“Good morning,” Gavin says cheerfully, and kisses me on the cheek. “I brought you coffee.”
He hands me a steaming Styrofoam cup. I inhale the scent of perkiness gratefully. Perkiness smells vaguely of pumpkin, as it turns out.
“You are my hero,” I tell him.
“You’re setting the bar for hero a little low, don’t you think?”
I laugh. “Maybe don’t complain, though, when it works in your favor.”
He scarfs down a doughnut, his gaze wandering. “No Cara today, huh?”
“Not yet, but she’ll definitely be here today.”
He frowns. It’s not the displeased kind of frown so much as the I want to say something but don’t want to hurt your feelings kind of frown. I take an extra big gulp of my coffee, and it burns its way to my stomach.
“She will,” I insist, even though he didn’t contradict me.
Everyone in drama club knows that today’s the day they announce the stage manager. Cara missed it last week when they announced roles for the fall play—when they announced that I got the lead role—but she won’t miss this.
Last week’s announcement was my moment, but this week will be hers. It’s the culmination of everything we’ve worked toward since seve
nth grade, everything we immortalized in the Book of Life Goals. We have big plans to be famous together and it’s kind of hard to be famous together by myself. I know she is big in this figuring herself out notion, but this is the goal.
“I hope she is,” he says, even though I know he only cares because I care. “But it’s 8:20, so I’m going to head in and give you some alone time with your coffee.”
I smile, even though it doesn’t quite come easily. “Okay. I’ll see you after drama club.”
He kisses me once more, this time on the lips, and then he lopes off toward the building. Gavin is a lot fussier than me about timeliness. I wish he’d stay and wait with me longer, but I know he doesn’t think I should bother waiting for Cara at all, so I guess I can only expect so much out of him.
The crowds of people hanging around out front of the school are starting to thin. Now it’s mainly just the smokers and me.
I glance at my phone. 8:24. There’s still time.
8:25. I hesitate, but no, today I’ll give Cara a little longer. I won’t go in just yet. She’ll come.
8:26. It hurt, last week, that she wasn’t there for my announcement. That she wasn’t one of the people surrounding me and cheering when they called my name for the lead role. It put a damper on my daydreams, the visions of myself on a red carpet surrounded by paparazzi and reporters begging to know who I’m wearing. But I will be there for her announcement, because I want to show her how much this still matters. How much she needs to forget about the stupid commune and remember what’s important.
8:27. I want to have our moment together, when I say something sappy and lame about how I couldn’t have done it without her, how her support has been everything, her lists keeping me on track when I can barely put down a pencil without losing it. How much she deserves the stage manager position because she’s the smartest, most organized person I know. It might be weird to get too heartfelt about this huge thing when I don’t know if it even matters to her anymore, but I don’t care. I’m going to do it anyway.
8:28. I heave a sigh and put my phone away. I can’t wait any longer without getting into trouble, and my heart feels like dust.
Cara’s going to miss this, too.
Cara is not named stage manager.
I should have expected this, maybe, but I am totally shocked. For five years, Cara’s been the picture of dedication. It’s been different this year, sure, but she’s made it to … well, definitely more than half of our drama club meetings.
My stomach turns to lead. What do I do when she finds out she’s not stage manager? She’ll be crushed. Won’t she?
Or will she just quit drama club altogether and spend even more time at the Haven, playing big sister to Avalon and pretending everything’s normal?
“Mailee.” Sam tugs on my arm. “We have to start rehearsal.”
“Right.” I try to shake free of the cloud in my head. “Just let me text Cara.”
She sighs. “If you really want to. But, Mailee … you’re not alone if you don’t have her, you know. The rest of us aren’t going anywhere.”
I swallow a lump in my throat and force a smile. I’m an actress. I can fake it with the best of them. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Samantha isn’t Cara, but she’s a great friend. We have a lot of fun together, and she’s tried hard the past couple months to help fill the Cara-shaped hole in my chest.
I duck out into the hallway, and instead of sending Cara a text, I call her. If she’s at the Haven—and let’s face it, where else would she be?—she doesn’t have service, but it’s worth a try, anyway.
She answers. I’m strangely disappointed. If she’s in cell range, why isn’t she here?
“Hey, where are you?” I ask. My voice doesn’t sound as nonchalant as I want it to.
“We came into town real quick to get supplies.”
“What do you mean you came into town real quick? You live in town.”
“Yeah, I know, but listen, I’m glad you called! I was going to call you in a little bit. There’s gonna be a party at the Haven tomorrow night. A harvest celebration. Will you please, please come? You can drive out after school.”
“So … you won’t be at school tomorrow, either?”
She’s silent for too long. “No.”
“Cara—”
“Look, we can talk about all that later. It’d mean so much to me if you came to this party. It’s going to be fun, I promise. I want us to spend time together again. I miss you.”
I really do not want to say yes to the party. I like a good party as much as the next girl, but I have never been to a harvest celebration and it doesn’t seem like my thing. Plus, I hate the Haven for messing up my senior year and taking away my best friend. If I’d known this would happen, I never would have gone the first time. Or the second time. I just couldn’t have dreamed that Cara would become so attached to a place where you have to pee in an outhouse with questionable structural integrity.
But I do want to say yes to spending more time together. There are millions of books and articles and TV shows that tell you how much it sucks to go through a breakup with a boyfriend, but no one prepares you for the pain of the moment when your best friend stops needing you. And as bad as breakups can be, this feels much, much worse. I need her. More than I need Gavin or my parents or anyone. I need my best friend.
“Okay. I’ll come.” Honestly, I’m surprised the words come out of my own mouth. But maybe if I go, I can convince her to stop skipping drama club. There’s still the spring play. She can be stage manager for that, if she gets it together. Before now, she’s had such a good record. They’ll remember that, they’ll look back on this with understanding. I’m sure of it. “Of course I want to spend more time with you, too. That will never change.”
“Good.” Maybe I’m reading into it, but her voice sounds relieved. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. After school. You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to this, Mailee.”
“Me too.” It’s only partly a lie.
Cara’s always been my rock, my day planner, my life coach. Maybe now it’s time for me to be hers.
“You want me to come with you to that thing tomorrow?”
Gavin is doing his homework while draped across my bed. I’m sitting in a tiger-striped beanbag chair, laptop on my knees. This has become our after-school routine. The reward for getting our homework done is kissing, and that’s pretty much the best reward there is.
“You’d be bored out of your mind,” I say. “I appreciate the offer, though.”
“You’re sure it’s safe?” Worry flickers across his face, which is adorable. “You’re going to be out in the woods overnight?”
“Cara will be there. It’s just a bunch of hippies worshipping the moon or something.”
“I’m pretty sure harvest celebrations are about crops, not the moon.”
“Does it really matter?” I stick out my tongue.
“Anyway.” He shoots me an exasperated look. “I’m just saying. You don’t have cell service there and it’s so far out of the way. What if you have a medical emergency and—”
“It’s not like it’s a frat party or something. What kind of medical emergency could I possibly have?” I don’t drink and Gavin knows it. It’s one of the many things that makes my parents trust me, and like Cara said, if I’m going to break their trust, it’s going to be for something really good.
Let’s not mention that by telling them I’m spending the night with Cara but not telling them where, I’m breaking their trust a teeny bit. But it’s not wrong, what I’m doing. If they do find out, they’ll understand.
“You could still get hurt. What if you fall into a fire or something? No one even knows you’re going there except me and Cara.”
“Okay, first of all. I am not going to fall into a fire. And second of all, let’s say something horrible and tragic does happen. You wouldn’t tell my parents where to find me?”
“Of course I would.”
; “Good. Problem solved, then.”
He stares mutely at me for an awkwardly long moment, then says, “Okay. Point taken. I’ll trust you not to fall in a fire. But I don’t like the vibe that place has.”
“I know you don’t. Trust me, I will be back here the second I can tear Cara away from there.”
If I can figure out how to tear her away. I keep flashing back to this summer, wondering how it got to this point in the first place. I’m suspicious that the groundwork was laid during Cara’s second visit, when she went without me. That they made her feel like she belonged, that she was one of them. They instigated the fault line that’s cracking the earth between us, and she’s breaking away, just like they hoped she would. She’s breaking away hard.
I am trying not to be judgmental of the people who live there. I genuinely believe that the idea behind it is nice. Maybe I’m just bitter because they recruited Cara and weren’t interested in me at all. Maybe I’m vengeful because of the rift they caused between us. Maybe I’m ashamed because I couldn’t last three days as a vegan and would have lasted even less if I’d tried to live in one of their shacks.
But something about that place bothers me. As much as I’d like to believe that the problem is all in my head, it just feels slimy. What have they done to hook Cara so deep? It’s one thing for her to visit a bunch over the summer, but to keep going now that school’s started? I don’t understand it, and it feels wrong.
“Well, you’ll definitely be back by Saturday afternoon, right?” Gavin asks while ferociously erasing a mistake in his lab notebook.
“Yeah, why?”
“I know you know Saturday’s our six-month anniversary.”
I arch an eyebrow. I did know, but I’m surprised he’s bringing it up. “And you made plans for us?”
“Dinner reservation. I’ll pick you up at 6:30.”
“Really?” I know it’s just dinner, but my heart melts into a puddle of slushy happiness.